


Little Things

by FortunesRevolver



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers, Yuuri-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortunesRevolver/pseuds/FortunesRevolver
Summary: It's the little things Yuuri notices at first, each one slowly piling up until he realises what he's been missing -- what he's had waiting all this time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to take place somewhere around the end of the series (if not after it) but ultimately, you can choose where you think it fits in best.

It’s little things Yuuri notices at first.

He sees it in the space beside him when he’s back on earth. Initially, he assumes it is so easy to notice because he’s just spent time in Shin Makoku, and more often than not, he hosts an uninvited bed guest. Yet, as the days pass by, his sleep schedule becomes more and more disrupted as he spends too many hours absently running his hands over cold and untouched sheets. He tries to assure himself that it means nothing, that habits are bred from repetition and his body is simply adjusting back to the new (old) norm of sleeping and waking alone.

But as he curls himself around a blue body pillow he bought out of desperation to try and fix the problem, he can’t ignore the whisper at the back of his mind.  _‘It’s just not the same…’_

He hears it in the each and every conversation he has with anyone remotely attractive -- let alone with the female part of the population. The conversations themselves are normal enough, and pass by him without much thought, but it’s the silence that follows which bothers him. There are no shouts, no outlandish claims of cheating or unfaithfulness, and no tugs to his limbs with arms wrapping tightly and possessively around his. The bite behind them has long since died, but patterns are hard to break, and he _knows_ he has the trust of everyone in the castle that is his home away from home.

Still, he can’t help but feel like something is missing when the once bitter-turned-playful fights don’t ring in his ears.

He can feel it in the heat that radiates from the bright, burning flames of a celebratory bonfire. The intense waves wash over his body, and he finds himself drawing comfort from it. It isn’t until he stumbles backwards from a sharp tug of his arm and nearly collides with the chest of his best friend that he realises he’d been walking dangerously close to the blaze. He waves off a questioning glance with soft assurances that he’s fine and repositions himself a safe distance away.

For as hot as they burn, they just can’t compare to the elegant flames that dance and spark over pale fingers in the world he’s embracing as his second home.

He smells it in the paint -- the perfectly normal, paint-smelling-paint -- from the art room of his school. As he stands in the doorway, he can’t remember why or how he got there. It was like a blink, a dazed moment in his mind that was lost to his absent thoughts and suddenly he’s there. The aroma is strong, but not overwhelming, and he’s not struck with the desperate urge to cover his nose or the sting of burning eyes. His gaze moves over the various easels he can see from where he stands and sighs. All of them are too neat; too practiced and _nice_ looking.

Unconsciously, he covers his nose as he turns away from the door and tries to imagine a smell a hundred times worse and the distorted abstracts that were - at least supposed to be - of him.

One by one the oddities stack up in his mind, distracting him from day to day life as he tries to figure out when _earth_ was the home that started to feel out of place. The leaves aren’t quite the _right_ shade of green, the sea of raven hair is rarely ever broken by the _right_ shade of gold, and all the uniforms he sees are much too close to his own and black, black, black, but never _blue._

With a muted sigh, he sinks his hand into the warm water of his small bath at home. It occurs to him that thinking a bath he’s used all his life seems _small_ is odd. The tub has never failed him before, but when one is able to cleanse themselves in a pool, the sudden shift is almost jarring.

A small ripple in the otherwise still pool catches his attention, and he quickly thrusts his hand forward to turn the faucet off and holds his breath, heart pounding in anticipation. The small waves grow, swirling in a lazy motion before the speed picks up and he nearly releases the elated cry that builds in his throat.  He wastes no time and lets himself be pulled headfirst into the would-be shallow waters.

When he resurfaces, he has just a moment to register the wind and birds before a sharp voice calls his name and he stumbles to his feet. All at once a thousand thoughts seem to rush through his mind as he body reacts before his mind and he moves to the edge of the fountain.

Words have only seconds to be exchanged before he reaches out and wraps his arms around slender shoulders and buries his face in the collared neck he hasn’t been able to hide in for far too long. He barely registers the confused and sputtered protests that follow his actions and leans back just enough to peer into the vivid green that put all the foliage of Earth to shame.

This, he thinks as he allows his fingers to dance across a creamy cheek, this is the part of _home_ that’s always been missing. The weak and culture-forced notion of gender and social constructs seem to melt away with his worries as all the dots connect. The tension that has slowly gathered in his chest seems to dissipate, and as if a switch has been flicked, he can breathe normally again while everything else fades.

“Hey, Wolfram…” he grins and feels his chest flutter in delight as he receives a half-hearted scowl that melts into a soft smile in return.

No matter what world he might be in, _here_ is where it all comes together; wrapped in warm, familiar arms as he’s scolded for being away for too long, and emerald eyes sparkle just for him. Someday, he vows, he’ll find a way to put everything in words; to communicate all the feelings that have built up until now and threaten to burst. But for now, he settles for what he _can_ say and loses himself in another tight embrace.

“I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a series I haven't written for... ever? Like, I'm sort of surprised I haven't. I'm pretty sure I wrote ONE story for these two years and years ago when I was still fourteen or so, but I digress. ~~I really loved this series when I was younger, like damn.~~
> 
> I forget what inspired this other than the fact that I (accidentally) got a friend into the series a few days ago. That lead to be re-reading the manga volumes that I happen to own and... this.
> 
> What is this? I'm not sure, but I'm pretty proud of it, so here's hoping that you're all able to enjoy it.


End file.
